The call
by marinoa
Summary: How else were you supposed to answer the phone when you had a hangover and the idiot at the other line just refused to get it that they were calling to a wrong number? AU.


AN: Right, so this one of those things I just sat down and wrote without any planning. Anyhow, *makes a noble gesture*, enjoy!

**The call**

The sharp, annoyingly melodious ringing tone intruded Arthur's ears no matter how hard he tried to keep it out. Groaning, the Englishman pushed off the pillow that he had tried to cover his ears with and fumbled with the objects on his bedside table to find something to silence the stubbornly ringing phone on the wall of his bedroom. He grabbed the first item that happened to be a white, empty tea mug, and hurled it at the offending object on the wall. The action didn't have the wanted effect, though; the mug crashed against the phone but instead of breaking it, it chipped itself. Arthur watched dully as the shrapnel fell on the floor while the ringing was beginning to drive the Englishman insane.

Groaning loudly, he crawled off the bed and swore at the massive headache that was feasting in his mind. Swearing for the hundredth time he would quit drinking, Arthur grabbed the phone and brought it to his ear. It had better be something important, otherwise there would be bodies.

"What?" the Englishman growled into the receiver.

"Ah, _bonjour!_" answered an annoyingly cheery, bright and very _French_ voice that made Arthur instantly wince. "I'm speaking with Berwald now, _oui_?"

The heavy French accent wasn't good to Arthur's already abused ears and it certainly didn't improve his mood that some fucking frog had dialled the wrong number and was now plaguing him instead of some twit named Berwald, of all names. "Of course I'm Berwald, who else could it be but Berwald, you sodding idiot?" Arthur snorted with angry sarcasm. His headache was increasing. "Now who the hell are you? Oh wait - actually I don't care one bit."

"Oh, excuse me Berwald!" the voice sang gaily, not bothered by the rude answer at all. "I forgot to introduce myself. It's me, Francis. I warned you that I would call one day when you sent me your number in the letter, didn't I? Though I must confess that I had imagined your voice to be quite different. Oh well - it doesn't matter."

Arthur didn't react at first, listening to the stream of words. What, was the idiot really so stupid as not to see sarcasm where there was some? Rubbing his temple with his free hand, the Englishman was about to inform the idiot about his mistake, but the Frenchman was the first to speak.

"I'm extremely sorry, Berwald, but I'm in a terrible hurry now. I have to say, however, that I'm looking forward to our meeting! It's incredibly exciting to meet someone for the very first time. Anyway, I'm very busy this afternoon, so I think your first suggestion about the meeting time is better. Which means, today at the Howling Dog at seven - be sure to be there! I'll be wearing a red rose on my shirt so you'll recognise me. But now, I need to run. See you in the evening!"

_Click._

Arthur stared blankly at the receiver in his hand. So much for telling the frog what kind of git he was, calling people and not even double-checking their numbers. Arthur hung the receiver back on the phone and dragged himself into the kitchen in order to make some tea and perhaps some eggs for breakfast. He shrugged off the whole phone call; it wasn't his fault if that, what was his name, Francis didn't take better care of his business.

After three cups of Earl Grey, two painkillers, two eggs and a short afternoon nap, the phone incident returned to the Englishman's mind again. Now that his hangover had finally let go of him, he could think over the call with more clear head and less anger. And as Arthur did so, he realised that he had actually been very rude to someone, who was apparently going to meet a person he had never met before. And this meeting was now going to be ruined since the person, Berwald, hadn't got the message of changed time of the appointment. Instead it was Arthur who knew when and where the two men were supposed to meet, although Arthur had nothing to do with neither them nor their meeting.

When Arthur wasn't suffering from hangovers, he was actually very gentlemanly a person. Hesitatingly he looked at his phone. If it had been newer model, he could have checked the caller's number and call him back to explain the mistake, but his good old phone didn't master such tricks. Too bad that Francis hadn't called to his cell phone, then there wouldn't have been any problems.

Well, Arthur shrugged, misfortune happens. He couldn't call back the Frenchman, and he certainly had never heard of the Berwald person, so there was nothing he could do.

Except...

Arthur glanced at the clock; it was quarter to three. The appointment of Francis and Berwald was supposed to be at seven. And Arthur did know where the Howling Dog – a pub in London, quite close to Arthur's home, actually – was. So... It would only be a good thing to do if he went to the pub at seven and explained that French person what had happened, right? After all, it was partly Arthur's fault that the mistake happened; he shouldn't expect that all people could notice his sarcasm, no matter how apparent it was.

Having decided going to the pub and meeting the Frenchman, Arthur started growing more and more anxious every passing hour. What if the man was some kind of psycho who would get mad and strangle Arthur in the dark alleys of London? And even if he didn't strangle him, he would probably at least get mad and then the Englishman would have to deal with angry Frenchmen, in which case he would get mad himself and end up in a fistfight with him.

Accompanied by such jovial thoughts, Arthur finally left for the Howling Dog. Recalling the phone call, he started looking for men with roses on their shirts as soon as he entered the pub. The Englishman was five minutes early, but considering how enthusiastic the man on the phone had sounded, he probably was on the spot already, too.

Unfortunately the place was totally crowded, and there was no way Arthur could see all the men in the pub, not mentioning somebody with a single rose. Losing his hope, he sighed and pushed through the mass of people to a single bar stool he, surprisingly, found free. Slumping down he was just about to order a drink when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"_Excuses-moi_, but this seat is taken, _monsieur_."

"It was bloody free," Arthur started, unsuccessful looking for Francis making him irritated. He turned to shoot a glare at the man on the stool beside him, but then a bell started ringing in his brain. The man had spoken few words in French, and his accent was easy to hear. So when Arthur turned to the man, whose hand was still on his shoulder, he didn't give him a glare but looked down on his chest instead. And there it was; a red rose aesthetically decorating the man's black shirt. Arthur quickly raised his look to the man's face to find a pair of bright blue eyes surveying him curiously. Was this Francis? At least he had a rose and spoke in the same voice and accent as the man on the phone, the Englishman thought while staring at the elegant, delicately shaped features of the Frenchman. Somehow Arthur hadn't been expecting him to look so... well, like that.

"Erm, well," he started, not quite in the brilliant way he had planned to start. "Are you Francis?"

"_Oui_," the man replied and tilted his head questionably. Then suddenly his handsome face seemed to light up. "Wait a minute... Are you Berwald?"

Arthur answered with no thinking. "Yes, it's me." Then he realised in horror what he had just said, but before he had time to correct himself, he was closed into Francis' warm embrace.

"I have been looking forward to our meeting!" the Frenchman exclaimed, letting the startled Englishman go after a few seconds. "This is more exciting than a blind date," he said smiling. "I've known you for quite a while, yet haven't had any idea of your physical appearance. On blind dates it's usually vice versa."

A heavy wave of guilt washed over Arthur and he felt heat rising on his cheeks. This person here before him had been waiting to meet someone for a long time, and yet Arthur had, for some unknown reason, said that he was the person the Frenchman had been supposed to meet. Shaking Francis' hand off his shoulder, Arthur couldn't bare looking him in the eyes. "A-actually..." he stuttered, avoiding the blue eyes. "I'm not, well, I..."

"You weren't keen on seeing me?" Disappointment and hurt were obvious in the Frenchman's voice.

"N-no!" Arthur was quick to respond, cursing his sudden uncertainty. What was it about this man that made him feel oddly nervous and reluctant to reveal the truth? "I mean... This is not a blind date," he finished lamely.

Francis burst into laughter. "You are right, this is not; this is something more valuable. I'm sorry if my words offended you in some way."

"A-ah, not at all..."

_Arthur, be man and_

"In the end, I find blind dates rather needless. They are a good way to have fun, but nothing more."

_tell him the fucking truth at this instant_

"No, our meeting is much more." Francis smiled to him. "Actually, _I _would be offended if this was called a mere blind date. It would be like strangers meeting."

_before it'll be too late._

"Yeah..."

_Arthur, you are digging yourself a hole, and to boot a bleeding _deep_ one._

"Are you alright, Berwald? You are not too verbal tonight."

_Yeah, that's because I'm actually deceiving you right now_. Arthur swallowed and tried to laugh. "I'm just nervous is all," he assured the Frenchman, and to his surprise even managed quite well; usually he was a bad actor. On the other hand, he hadn't just lied – he _was_ incredibly nervous.

"Ah, I understand." Francis nodded, looking absolutely understanding. "You know, you seem very different from how you appear in your letters," he added thoughtfully.

Arthur coughed awkwardly. Now there was a chance for him to correct the misunderstanding. "Well, actually, it's because-"

"Hey, mister, could we have our drinks now?" Francis shouted out to a bartender, who approached them and asked what they would like to have. "I would have a _Green chaud_ please, and Berwald here..."

The Frenchman gave Arthur a questionable look, and the Englishman cleared his throat. "Erm, I'd take a, a glass of whiskey is fine. Please."

Francis raised his eyebrows but nodded to a bartender, who went off to fulfil the orders. Arthur started to feel very hot – he had obviously ordered the wrong thing. Before the Frenchman could speak, he quickly explained, "Wanted to have something different. Like, to grace our meeting."

"Ah."

_Well done, Arthur. So much for revealing the truth. Plus, you got him suspicious._

The drinks arrived and each man took his own glass. Francis raised his drink towards Arthur. "Cheers!"

Arthur mirrored the gesture. "Cheers."

Their glasses pinged together. Arthur moved his eyes from the glasses to his companion and nearly dropped the glass along with his eyes. Francis was looking at him over their united glasses, his sky blue eyes sparkling with mystery. Breathtaking, that's how he looked, bloody _breathtaking_. Arthur quickly turned his eyes away and took a sip of his whiskey. It struck him with full power that he knew nothing about this Berwald person, nothing about what he was supposed to be like. What was he supposed to talk about? How was he supposed to act? What was he supposed to _do_?

And Francis was still watching him. Oh God, how he was _watching_ him...

Panic starting to rise within him, Arthur gulped down half of the glass at a cold stroke. He wasn't quite sure why he was suddenly so shaken inside; it shouldn't be a big deal, telling the truth and walking away. Just a few simple words, an apologise, nothing to get all worked up about.

"You look very good, you know," Francis murmured absently with a small smile.

Arthur slammed his glass on the table, almost chocking on the drink and gaining a startled look from the Frenchman. When he didn't stop coughing, Francis raised his hand and started rubbing his back, which didn't help Arthur at all. That was it; he couldn't. He _couldn't_ anymore. Arthur didn't know if it was because of the whiskey, but that Frenchman was having a greater effect on him that alcohol, and it scared him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," Arthur managed to say. "I- I'll stop by in the washroom." He stood up and headed straight to the door of the pub, not looking back.

"Berwald!"

_Ignore him, don't freaking _dare_ turn..._

But he did. Of course.

Francis smiled at him. "The washroom is that way," he said, pointing to the very opposite direction from where Arthur was going.

"Oh," he said blankly, cursing himself and taking the pointed direction, hurrying to get out of the sight of the blue eyes. "How silly of me."

As soon as the door closed behind the Englishman, he leant over one of the sinks and stared at his reflection in the mirror. "Well done, Arthur, fucking well done," he snapped at himself. "What the hell are you going to do now?"

The reflection in the mirror didn't answer, merely gawked back at him looking just as puzzled as its counterpart. "You are useless," Arthur announced to it and turned around just in time to see a man coming out of one of the stalls and warily glancing at him. Arthur glared at the man until he left, after which he was all alone in the room. "Now, take a hold of yourself and try to get out of here without Francis noticing..." Unfortunately the option was questionable because the Frenchman had a clear vision on the door. Both doors actually – the washroom door _and_ the pub door. "This is somewhat problematic..."

Unable to come up with an idea of what to do, Arthur chose to do nothing. He leant his back against the tiled wall, crossed his arms protectively across his chest and closed his eyes. If he remained like that until the closing time (which was at five am.), maybe Francis would get bored and get the hell out of the bloody pub and leave him alone.

Of course the Frenchman did the very opposite; as it took Arthur so long, he finally peeked into the washroom and saw the Englishman standing still like a statue. "Berwald?"

Arthur gritted his teeth – how he hated being called that! How much more pleasant it would sound if the Frenchman called him by his own name, not by that- that offending _grunt_. "What," he snapped in response, refusing to open his eyes to protect himself against the confusing blue ones. On the other hand, that way he didn't know what the other one was doing. Which is why he nearly jumped when hands were placed on both his shoulders and he was shaken lightly.

"Something is bothering you," Francis said, his voice a mixture of worry and kindness. "Talk to me. Tell me what is wrong."

Arthur cracked one eye open and peeked at the Frenchman. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes." The blue eyes were sincere.

"Well let me tell you," Arthur said almost angrily. "Because you are stupid enough to meet somebody with whom you have only exchanged letters before! Because in reality they might not be just like they seem on the paper, and then you don't even know who you are talking to! Like now you aren't even speaking with Berwald."

Francis blinked once, twice, and flashed a smile. "Is that the problem?" he asked and chuckled. "Come with me." He took Arthur's hands and half guided, half dragged him out of the washroom back into the crowded pub, and stopped in the middle of the full dance floor. Before Arthur had completely realised the Frenchman's intentions, he was wrapped in those long arms and coaxed to move with the rather slow rhythm. However, he remained as tense as an old oak, arms hanging on his sides, mind and body unable to react.

"If you are worrying about being different to the Berwald I had imagined from the letters, I assure you, you are worrying over nothing," Francis all but purred into his ear, apparently not getting that Arthur had _literally_ meant that he wasn't Berwald. "You seem very different from what I've imagined, but it's not automatically a bad thing. Though now you've forced me to review my previous image about our... mm, relationship."

The Frenchman's words cast shivers running down Arthur's spine, and not only because his warm breath was caressing his neck. The close contact was far too intimate for the Englishman to feel mentally comfortable, but no matter how he tried, he failed to connect his body with his mind – and so he had no other choice but watch how his own arms hesitantly wrapped around the Frenchman's torso, even though Francis' last words had turned on a screaming alarm in his mind.

And then warm lips pressed against his neck, ever so gently, so _tenderly_, and Arthur froze immediately. The warmth instantly disappeared from his skin, leaving the Englishman inwardly screaming for it to come back.

"_Désolé_," Francis said, offering and apologetic smile and drawing back but not letting go of the Englishman. "I went too far."

"N-no, it's not-" Arthur stuttered, not being able to look the Frenchman in the eyes for it was actually _him_ who had gone too far. "It's just that..."

But he couldn't finish. How could he? Because it wasn't _him_ Francis had just caressed. It wasn't him with whom Francis spoke. It was Berwald. Francis didn't smile to _Arthur_. He didn't even no who Arthur was, and he didn't want to get to know him. He wanted to become closer with Berwald. In normal circumstances he wouldn't even look twice in the Englishman's direction. And damn, did that hurt.

_Are you happy now, stupid Englishman?_ he scolded himself. _I told you you were digging yourself a hole, didn't I? But you didn't listen, and now you are falling._ That's how it was: he was falling. He was falling for the Frenchman whom he had yelled in the phone just that morning and who, even still, was a complete stranger for him.

"It's just that you don't want this," he finished as the blue eyes continued looking at him, asking for explanation. "Really, you don't. Not with me."

Francis pulled him closer, apparently correctly assuming that the contact wasn't unwanted. "But I do," he mumbled into his hair, lightly kissing his forehead, temple, ear. "Against all odds, I do." Cheek, jaw,

lips.

Arthur's breath hitched and he couldn't form a clear thought, mind being clouded by mist. When he finally regained the ability to speak, he somehow managed to gather the willpower required to push the Frenchman further. "N-no, you've misunderstood-"

"I don't think so," Francis said and gave an unreadable smile – a bit mocking, yet honest and gentle. "It wasn't meant to turn out this way, but it's not worth denying that it is you whom I want to get closer to." He smirked and added, "Not Berwald."

First Arthur didn't hear a single thing, then noises of people around and blood rushing in his veins filled his ears. "What... did you say?"

Francis uttered a small laughter, and this time it was definitely mocking. "It's fairly uplifting how dumb you seem to consider me, _cher_. But I assure you that even though I hadn't spoken with Berwald before, we have been exchanging letters for rather long a time. And believe it or not, by them I could definitely tell that the person I was speaking with this morning was not Berwald. Just to make sure, I checked the number I had phoned and realised that there was a mistake. So I called Berwald to confirmed, and we agreed on new plans."

Suddenly Arthur felt very, very foolish. His cheeks insanely flushing, he tried to hide his embarrassment with anger. "What the hell! Why didn't you tell me right away?" he yelled, pushing the Frenchman away.

Francis wasn't greatly affected by the act. "Why didn't you?" he asked matter-of-factly, grinning. "You would have let me think you were my long-term friend whom I was supposed to meet for the first time."

Guilt and shame washing over Arthur, he tried to push the blame off him – he couldn't stand it even though it was justified. "I tried to tell you, but every time you wouldn't let me finish, bloody wanker!" That was even more or less true.

Francis grin grew wider. "Why spoil the fun?" he asked, winking and laughing when Arthur shot a glare at him. "I figured that it would be interesting to see what you would do; would you come at all? If yes, would you tell the truth? And so on." He approached the Englishman again and grabbed his hand, spinning him around with the beating music that had now changed into more speedy rhythm. He stopped the twirling movement by taking a hold of Arthur's waist and pulling him close once more. "And I have to admit," he said with a smile, "That you were even more amusing than I had excepted."

"You stupid frog," Arthur snapped, still feeling uncomfortable but not shying away from the embrace. "Toying with other people like nothing."

"Oh, not 'like nothing'," Francis said slowly, seductively. "There was a side effect." And then he leant forward and kissed Arthur again. And no matter how mortified the Englishman was at the situation, this time he kissed back.

"Would you care telling me who you are?" Francis mumbled into his lips, lazily rocking Arthur with the music. "I'd like to attach your name to your phone number that I already happen to have."

Arthur's body followed the Frenchman's guidance while his mind drifted somewhere else. "Arthur," he said, nibbling on the Frenchman's lips. "But I'll tell you only if you promise not to call me Berwald ever again."

Francis laughed and broke the kiss. "Deal," he said. "But only if you stop talking about him for tonight and concentrate on me."

Arthur grinned and wrapped his arms around the Frenchman's neck. "Deal."

Who had said it was courtesy that took one far? Maybe it wasn't that bad, answering a few rude words at the phone every now and then. A mere "I'm sorry you've dialled a wrong number" would certainly not have taken Arthur to where he was at the moment – and where soon he would be.

X


End file.
